The Trials of Malfoys
by sockpuppet82
Summary: Takes up where the 7th book ends - from Draco Malfoy's perspective. Stay with him through three Wizengamot trials. His mother's. His father's. His own. He knows his future, it's the same as the rest of his family's. Azkaban. Madness. Death. ...Right?
1. Chapter 1

"Perhaps we should leave…" Mother whispered anxiously.

It's over. The Dark Lord's dead. I am still trying to absorb the immensity of it. For one precious moment I felt completely free.

"I did not want to draw attention to us," Lucius, my father, murmured uneasily, looking around him at the celebrating crowd.

And then the walls closed back in.

"Someone will notice soon enough anyway," Narcissa replied logically although the effect was slightly ruined when her voice shook.

For the first time I began to wonder seriously what would become of us. I'd thought about it before of course but it was never more than idle fantasy, usually stifled quickly. I had not truly believed that Potter would ever defeat the Dark Lord. But now…

Now what? We wouldn't get off lightly. We were, after all, the Malfoys. Everyone knew of our involvement with Him. And what did the Ministry do with Death Eaters? Threw them in Azkaban of course.

I had an absurdly strong urge to laugh wash through me. We were going to Azkaban. Fuck.

What could they do? Father and I were known Death Eaters and Mother was too involved with us, even if she hadn't technically taken the mark. There was no one to save us, I realized with a start, watching Mother nervously twiddle her fingers. No one to bail us out this time.

I quickly clenched my fingers as they started to tremble, determined not to show signs of my weakness, especially to Father. Who would even consider saving the Malfoys? Certainly not anyone in a position to do so. The most I could hope for, I realized, was a short enough stay in Azkaban so that I wouldn't go completely insane, or die there. The thought was not a comforting one.

If only I hadn't tried to bring Potter to the Dark Lord, he might have been willing to … what? Get me and my Death Eaters family out of Azkaban? Not likely. I don't even know why I thought of it, it's not as though we're even close to friendly.

Azkaban.

The word was chilling, terrifying, and I now had to sit on my hands to cover their shaking.

As much as I'd mocked Potter for fainting before Dementors, the truth was, I wasn't much better. And now I was going to spend the rest of my life with them. Not that 'the rest of my life' meant very much now.

How much time did the sentence refer to? Months? Weeks? Hours?

It wouldn't even just be me, either. Father would have to go back there. I don't even know how he survived his first trip. In fact, I strongly suspect that a chunk of his sanity was lost in that visit.

And my Mother. Narcissa, who hadn't even done much – a Crucio here and there, usually to other Death Eaters, and always at the Dark Lord's command – would have to join us, simply because she'd refused to leave her husband and son.

I wondered bizarrely if we'd get a shared cell. Family discount?

I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind, they were too much to deal with right now, and slowly became more aware of my surroundings. I was surprised Potter wasn't here, basking in the attention. I'd seen him slip out earlier, under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak, which I'd _finally_ figured out that he owned.

"Malfoys." I jumped and, judging from Kingsley Shacklebolt's amused expression, so did my parents.

"I have to take you to the Ministry," he explained and my stomach lurched. "Are you going to come with me quietly or will I have to subdue you?" he asked, face hardening.

"Of course we'll come with you," Mother said smoothly, looking the epitome of calm, as though she got arrested everyday.

"Hand over your wands," Shacklebolt said sharply, leveling his own at Lucius. Apparently agreeing to be peaceful meant nothing when you were a Death Eater. Mother looked to me and I quickly looked down.

"It got destroyed in the Fiendfyre, I'm sorry," I breathed and for a second I could see the sadness seeping into her eyes.

"Well then none of us have wands," she shook her head, turning back to Shacklebolt.

"Fiendfyre?" he asked, looking quite alarmed. I knew why. "What-"

"It's either out or permanently contained," I shook my head, "in the Room of Requirement." I could tell that he had no idea what I was talking about but played along.

"_Why_ would you conjure Fiendfyre?" he hissed and I shook my head rapidly.

"It wasn't me, it was Crabbe!"

"And where is he?" he raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing me.

"Dead," I looked down and he frowned.

"Killed by the -"

"Fiendfyre," I finished for him, nodding.

"Convenient," he said dryly.

"There were other people there," I protested, before realizing that naming those people wouldn't help me in the slightest.

"Who?" he asked instantly and I winced inwardly. Fuck my life. Or maybe that wasn't the best thing to be thinking in my position. Tempting fate.

"Potter, Weasley and Goyle," I sighed, not liking the look of dark understanding that seeped into his eyes.

"Well I'll ask them what happened then, shall I?" he drawled. "Come along then," he cleared his throat. I stood up and, feeling as though all eyes were on me, followed Shacklebolt and my parents along the edge of the Great Hall and out into the night. Waiting for us was a carriage, which Shacklebolt explained had an anti-Apperation charm on it for when we left the wards of the castle.

I wasn't really listening. How could I listen to the first chapter of my inevitable death? Because really, Azkaban and death went hand in hand. If not a literal death, although that was the most likely, then a metaphorical one of some kind.

As soon as we'd passed through the gates each of us were seized by an Auror and Apperated into the Ministry. Yet another confirmation that cooperation meant nothing. Or maybe the others had it even worse. We were silently shown to a cell and pushed inside.

"The dates of your Wizengamot trials are of yet undetermined," a broad-faced Auror informed us and then, with a look of badly disguised glee, slammed the heavy door shut in our faces.

We stood there for a few minutes, simply staring at the door, until I felt my knee's trembling a bit too much for my liking and I quickly went and sat down on a bench covering one side of our cell. After a moment Narcissa followed me.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she murmured anxiously, looking at me like she'd never see me again.

"I-" my voice squeaked embarrassingly and had to clear my throat before continuing. "I'm fine," I sighed.

For now.

She'd already asked me, both her and Father, as soon as they'd found me in the Great Hall, but I only belatedly remembered that I hadn't asked it back.

"Are _you_ alright?" I frowned.

"Oh I'm fine," she shook her head, staring off into a memory that I couldn't see. I knew she was lying, she'd spent the last few hours with Voldemort, of course she wasn't fine, but I let it go.

A wave of panic swept over me again as we sat there quietly, watching Lucius stare blankly at the cell door and it was all I could do to keep my breaths even and controlled.

I don't know how long we stayed that way – the panic was quite numbing – but eventually I couldn't take the quiet anymore and blew out a long, frustrated sigh. The unexpected noise made my parents jump and Lucius turned to us abruptly, frowning deeply.

"I'm sorry," he breathed and I slumped into the wall behind me in shock.

"This was never… I-" he stumbled over his words and I looked at him with slight pity. I don't know why, really, what reason I had to pity him but it was the only emotion that cut through the fear, still resting in a tight knot in my chest.

"This is my fault."

The words seemed to pain him but neither Mother or I made any move to say anything. What could we say? It was, unfortunately, rather true.

"I never wanted either of you to go to Azkaban." The last word came out choked and my panic returned full force, nearly debilitating.

"We've all made mistakes," Mother said diplomatically and rose to stand in front of him. "Your Father practically bred you for this," she shook her head. "As did mine."

"And now we've done exactly the same thing to Draco," he breathed, the pain startling evident in his usually cold eyes and both of them turned to stare at me.

"Well no worries about me doing the same thing to my own son," I said flatly, mainly to get them to stop staring like that. "I won't ever have one."

It could have been interpreted a number of way's but with Azkaban weighing so heavily on everyone's minds it was quite obvious what I meant. I looked up from the floor to see Mother's eyes pouring out tears and Father facing the door again. I'd never seen him even remotely like this before.

"They might not give you a very long sentence," Mother tried, the words rushing out. "You've never killed anybody."

_I've tried though_, I wanted to scream at her. _And I've hurt people, sent them to St. Mungo's, if my last name isn't enough._ I didn't say any of what I was feeling though. It was already painfully obvious, she didn't need to hear it.

"Maybe you're right," I said soothingly, letting a small, fake, smile touch my lips and was rewarded when her stiff posture relaxed an inch. It seemed to have the opposite effect on my Father however and he tensed up even more, obviously seeing through my half-hearted lie. The man was going to seriously hurt himself if he strained his muscles anymore.

I honestly don't think I'd ever seen him so unguarded before. I presumed it was the memories of his previous capture with the Ministry that was doing it, coupled with the fact that his family was here with him. His wife and son.

I felt so exposed, sitting there with my Father on one side and my Mother on the other, in the tiny cell, even though nobody was there to see. I have no idea how long we sat there before a guard's voice broke the silence, telling us to sit down on the bench, where we were already sitting, and to stay still. As though we were going to jump him and fight our way through the entire Ministry without wands.

"I'm coming in!" he announced and I rolled my eyes. "No funny business!"

No. He did _not_ just say that. Utterly _unreal_.

The door opened slowly to reveal a nervous looking, young, Auror-in-training. Or so I supposed. He certainly couldn't be a fully qualified Auror. At least I hoped not. That would be a sad day for the Ministry.

"I am bringing you food," he stated unnecessarily as the tray floated in.

"You will be tried separately by the Wizengamot," he announced importantly after a second's wait, puffing out his chest as though he'd ever be a part of the panel.

"Narcissa Malfoy, you will be tried first in four days on Wednesday, May 6th. Lucius Malfoy, you will be tried second, in five days, on Thursday, May 7th. Draco," here he stopped to snigger, the little fucking git, and my eyes stretched again to the ceiling.

"Draco Malfoy, you will be tried third, in six days, on Friday, May 8th. You will stay here until such times as your trials will take place," the man read off a slip of paper and despite the ridiculousness of the situation I felt a jolt of fear. This was it. I had six days left before the start of the end of my life. The man left abruptly, slamming the door once again, and I was left with my thoughts, parents and some sort of rice and meat mixture.

I sighed. This was what we were reduced to.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is not a tragedy. Sorry, if that ruins it for some, but I hate tragedys, and I'd never write one. And I have wanted to read this too (Miyako Suou) ever since the 7th book. And since I couldn't find it anywhere, I decided to write it!! :D **

**btw guys, This might be a prequel. I dunno. I thought it was definitely going to be, but then I thought definitely not, and then today I've been flip-flopping. I'm just not sure? If there is a sequel (or whatever you call it) to this then there will be D/H slash. Just thought you ought to know.**

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**CHAPTER TWO: I Don't Want to Be Like My Father **

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I sighed. This was what we were reduced to.

None of us touched the food, though all probably for different reasons. After a while the lights dimmed and we were left sitting there in the near dark, none of us sleeping, although I was extremely tired.

Our silence continued through the next two days. Yes, two days. We were each lost in our own thoughts, memories, and we rarely moved from our bench. It was only after hours and hours of the quiet did I start to find it oppressive.

"Can we talk?" My voice came out hoarse. "About anything." My parents flinched a bit, remnants of the Dark Lord's cruelty in the past year, but my Mother, at least, was nodding.

"We should make the most out of the time we have."

It was strange, in a way. My Mother hadn't been this … soft … in years. But then this last year had changed all that. We were only barely accepted back with the Dark Lord. Voldemort, I should get used to saying now, although I'd be lying if I said just the thought of him doesn't make me flinch. It's been a hard year. To say the least.

And I've had lots of time to think. Lots and lots of time. So much that I came to somewhat dread life in general. Don't I sound suicidal?

When I was with Death Eaters, our only company at Malfoy Manor, I was mocked or occasionally tortured. When I wan't with them I was thinking, painful thoughts that I just wanted to shake out of my head. And when I wasn't awake I was dreaming; nightmares.

I didn't stay at school all the time. In fact I think I was only there for about three months in total. Which gave me more time. Joy.

The one year I longed for homework was the one year that we didn't get very much. I was owled my assignments but there weren't very many. So I took to memorizing my text books, to escape my thoughts. I felt like Granger. It was disgusting.

I didn't like to think about the future too much - it always seemed too bleak - instead preferring, if not by much, to dwell on the past. I thought about my childhood, trying to reach as far back into my memory as possible. I thought about Hogwarts. I tried to picture every single person I knew and then recall every time we'd talked. This was only once I'd gotten mind numbingly bored, mind you. And memorized nearly every single word of my text books.

I hadn't bothered with people that I'd talked to all the time, which left out lots of Slytherins, unfortunately, but for some reason I included Potter, Weasel and Granger. The bloody Golden Trio. Maybe I was just that bored. Or maybe I just wanted to remember exactly how riled up I could get them.

It was hilarious, really. I don't know why they cared if I insulted them or their families. I mean, it's me. Malfoy. Death Eater. I'd never thought they would care, until the first time just got such a reaction that I couldn't help doing it again and again.

In the beginning I was just like a little boy pulling on a girls pigtails. But after a while things obviously escalated. Merlin, I tried to Crucio him. Potter. The Chosen One. The-Boy-Who-Lived. Golden-Boy, or Wonder-Kid, or whatever they call him now.

God, I hate that he has so many titles. Titles. It makes him sound like a Lord or something. Stupid arse.

But anyway, I tried to Crucio their great hero. After he caught me crying. And then he almost killed me. With Dark Magic.

Yup, that was a strange day.

I know he didn't mean to because he looked so pathetically stunned when I collapsed at his feet, but for Merlin's sake, he still Sectumsempraed me. And of course he didn't get in trouble. Well not much anyway.

"What do you want to talk about honey?" Mother asked me and I hesitated.

"I- I wanted to know … you know … what happened to you during the Final Battle?" Great now I sound like Longbottom. What an unfortunate last name he has. It's almost made me pity him a few times.

"There's not really that much to tell," she said slowly. "We were with Him and the rest of His followers. Not fighting, of course, for we didn't have any wands, but trying to get him to let us go find you." I winced, knowing that wouldn't have gone over well.

"After a while, I was fairly certain that he'd killed Severus," she sighed and I frowned. That had been a startling discovery. I almost hadn't believed Potter during his final duel thing with … Voldemort. And there was also the small relavation that Snape was a spy because he'd fallen in love with a mudblood. Yeah that was a bit of a shock, not going to lie.

"Then what?" I asked eagerly, nearly overjoyed that our brooding silence was gone. Well nearly gone - my eyes flicked to my Father. Mother didn't notice as she continued.

"Then we had to wait with him in the Forest as we all waited for Harry to show up"

Harry?

"It was horrible, Draco," she sighed and I frowned. "We didn't know where you were, or if you were alive even, or if you'd been captured or-" she rushed out and my forehead smoothed. I could deal with worry better than the Cruciatus, even if I had caused it in the first place.

"It's alright," I wrapped an arm around her and she threw hers around me, squeezing me until I was rather uncomfortable.

"Well by that time I was nearly out of my mind with worry for you, I had no idea if you were alive or…" she gulped and I was once again struck by the changes in her. It was as though I'd gone back in time.

Of course the transition was not such a rapid one that it was just made last night. It's been happening for most of this year I think. She, and my Father too actually, were caring less and less about the Dark Arts and their place with the Dark Lord, and more about me. It was quite a pleasing feeling actually, no matter how hard I tried to deny it.

"And then he came," she shook her head. "Just as his hour was up. I was afraid … Voldemort … would go on a killing spree if Harry hadn't shown up when he did."

"That poor boy," she shook her head and I glowered. Of course Perfect Potter would get sympathy even from my Mother.

"He willingly walked to his death," she continued, as though he was some sort of bloody saint. "You should have seen him Draco, he didn't even seem overly scared."

Then he's insane. I've known it for years. The mad arsehole.

"Just walked to his death because he knew he was a Horcrux…"

"What is a Horcrux?" I asked, finally interested.

"It's deadly Dark Magic Draco, don't ever make one," my Father cut in, finally snapping out of his little trance and I stared at him. Well this was new.

"You split a piece of your soul off from the rest, incasing it in something else. Usually an inanimate object but in the case of Potter and Nagini, a living entity." Part of me was digesting this while the rest marvelled that Lucius's voice wasn't hoarse after days of not talking. Lucky bloody Death Eater.

"So then how the bloody hell did Potter and his groupies find and destroy them?" I spat, disgusted for a moment at Voldemort. How could he have let himself be brought down by children? Well not children, really, because if I label Potter as a child then I'm calling myself one too. And nobody who went through the Final Battle could ever really be labeled as young anymore.

"Everybody just stood there for a moment," Mother continued, "and then … Voldemort," she cringed, "cast an Avada Kedavra on Harry-"

"Wait so he actually died?" I interrupted. I confess, I completely thought Potter was either exaggerating or lying. It would be just like him.

"And both of them fell down," she continued, as though I'd never spoken. "It was only for a second. I don't know if they actually died or not. It doesn't seem likely," she frowned, "for them to die and then just wake up again, but with them I suppose anything is possible."

With them. As though they're on the same level. Like they had the same degree of skills.

"And then only Voldemort sat up again. He seemed a bit … flustered I suppose you could call it," she puzzled and I actually snorted. Flustered's just not a word you would connect to the Dark Lord.

"So he Crucio'd Harry a few times but he only flew up into the air, nothing else seemed to happen. And then," she took a breath, "He told me to go see if Harry was alive." At this Father turned to her, eyes filled with understanding. It was, quite understandably I think, rather annoying. Ohh…right!

"So?" I raised my eyebrows, thankful that they didn't think to reprimand me.

"So I went over to check on him and obviously he wasn't dead but I asked him if you were alive, Draco, and when he said yes, I lied to the … to Voldemort …and told him that he was indeed dead," she finished as though saving the Chosen One was the most natural thing in the world. Her words reminded me that Potter had saved my own life twice that night though so I didn't comment.

"And you know the rest really. You were there when Harry did his disappearing act right?"

"Yes," I frowned, thinking back to the Invisibility Cloak. If only I'd known…

"So what were you doing then?" she nudged my knee and I sighed. I really didn't want to talk about Potter saving my life.

"I was in my dorm when someone pressed their mark. So me, Crabbe and Goyle put on disillusionment charms and were heading outside when all the professors started barricading the school and setting off all sorts of traps and enchantments so we couldn't get out." It wasn't a lie. Although I did omit the part about dragging my feel all the way up to the Entrance Hall.

"Everybody was being summoned to the Great Hall so we followed. There was a big to-do about …Voldemort," I blinked, "wanting Potter and Pansy was idiotic enough to suggest we all grab him. After that, McGonagall said that the Slytherin house was to be 'evacuated.'" I sneered. We were the least likely of all to be hurt. "But Crabbe, Goyle and I hadn't taken off our Disillusionment charms to we followed Potter as he ran off." Here I stopped; sighed. This was embarrassing.

"We caught up to him as he was talking to Thing One and Thing Two. They were carrying these huge curved fangs. We didn't hear everything but Potter was harping on about a diadem, and how it was in the Room of Requirement. I'm pretty sure it was Voldemorts," I blinked. It really was taking such force of will to say his name.

Somebody should give me a medal.

"So we followed him in there and tried to bring Potter to Him," I sighed gustily. "It didn't go well." Understatement of the century. Right before "wow, the Cruciatus Curse stings, huh?"

"What happened?" My Mother was frowning but it was quite obviously in concern. I could probably say that I'd fucked Harry Potter and she'd just ask me if I was hurt.

Ahh! Horribly disgusting mental images! Oh, gross, that's just sick.

"Draco, what happened?" Mother leaned forward, her frown deepening.

"What? Nothing! Never!" I stressed frantically and watched confusion settle into her eyes.

"Have they started making time-released Confounds charms now?" Father lifted a sardonic brow.

"Well yes actually, not that I was hit by one," I replied absently, still trying to rid myself of the utterly disturbing images.

"It's not a new trick. Every spell can be time-released except for the Killing Curse, by adding a simple extension to the Latin and saying precisely how much time you want to pass before the curse activating. In Latin as well, of course, which is partially why not very many people know about it or use it. Or it could be because the Ministry labled it as Dark Magic back in the 30's," I shrugged, finally able to tune out my own thoughts.

"And yet Granger still beat you on every single exam," Father shook his head and I scowled. That was still a sore spot.

"Weren't you wallowing in self-pity?" I snapped.

"Stop it," Mother begged. One look at her distressed posture had me looking down in unaccustomed shame.

"For Merlin's sake, we don't have that much time left with each other," she sighed. "Draco. What happened when you followed Harry into the Room of Requirement?"

"Right," I sighed. "Well we cornered him and everything was going fine. Then Crabbe thought it would be a good idea to start toppling shelves onto Weasel instead of just Imperiusing Potter into saying that nothing was wrong. Although back in Fifth he could throw the curse off completely," I added thoughtfully. "Thanks to Crouch Jr." Disgust.

I never really did understand that whole scenario. Why did he help Potter? Stupid ass.

I'm not bitter. I'm really not. I don't care that I can't throw off the curse. Doesn't matter to me. Honest.

It's not my fault anyway. Father taught me to follow orders. All the time. Because if I was going to work for the Dark Lord, I couldn't question it every time he told me to do something, right?

And he probably wanted to be able to get me to shut up.

I wonder what it's like to look down at your little baby boy and start preparing for when he would join Voldemort? Knowing that you would be sentencing him to a life of ... what? Power? Is that what was running through his mind?

Did he ever think of the amount of times he'd been Crucioed, when looking down at my peaceful, sleeping face? Or maybe he only thought of that when I was crying. My newfound pity for my Father faded. Sometime I just couldn't get over things. I was a Malfoy, after all. We know how to carry grudges.

"So then the groupies come running and Crabbe starts firing off Avada's and trying to Crucio Potter. The Bright-White Trio's fighting back and then Crabbe decides it could be helpful to start some Fiendfyre," I shook my head bitterly. If he hadn't done that, I probably wouldn't be here right now. We wouldn't be here right now. In a good way.

I'd be sitting at home, in big, spacious Malfoy Manor, instead of dark, cramped Ministry Holding room. It lessened the sting of his death somewhat.

"And obviously, he has no idea how to stop it," I sneered. "Goyle had been Stunned, so I grabbed him and was dragging him to the door, but honestly, the bloke weighs nearly 200 pounds," I said, exasperated all over again. "And so we're surrounded by the Fyre when Potter comes and tries to haul both me and Goyle onto some broom he'd found."

"What?" Father looked a mixture of incredulous and disgusted, though at what I'm not entirely sure. Wait for it, Father. The story's not nearly over.

"Why?"

Who knows Mother. Who really knows how that mind works. It had Voldemort in it often enough, after all. We shouldn't be so quick to assume that he's sane. Actually, Potter being mad would definitely make sense. More than him being sane. No normal person makes it their life goal to defeat the evilest and most powerful wizard ever. It's simply not done.

"Goyle's too heavy so Weasel comes and gets him and we're all flying for the exit when Potter stops to grab a tiara," I frowned.

I don't know what was up there. I'm not even sure if I want to.

Visions of Potter wearing the awful crown-thing and singing Dancing Queen into his hairbrush filled my mind.

'We barely made it out alive. Crabbe didn't. Neither did your wand." I couldn't tell if Mother was still upset by this - the sad gleam seemed permanently fixed in her eyes.

"We ran," I shrugged. It wasn't cowardly, not really. Just good sense. We'd just tried to capture Potter and were basically wandless, as Goyle didn't count. Stupefy was still pretty tricky for him.

"Then there was a ... an encounter with Loony Lovegood, which I'd rather not repeat out loud. It's not terribly important and I'm not entirely sure if it was a hallucination or not," I admitted.

"I had the ... pleasure ... of going to school with her father," Lucius's gaze shifted to the past, his tone of voice indicating that it was anything but.

"He was rather..." Mother faltered.

"Yeah," I grimaced. Nothing more needed to be said.

"So then," I sighed, tired of my tale. We'd been talking for well over an hour now. "Some Death Eater - probably a newbie," I added darkly, "was about to either curse me or kill me, who knows, when Potter Stunned him." The last was said in a sigh. It seemed I was doing lots of that these days.

"So then what did he do to you?"

"Nothing," I shrugged lamely. "Weasel punched me in the face?" I offered as Father seemed unable to process what I was saying.

"Hmm..." Mother mused, a small frown creasing her face. Each of them looked rather baffled in this turn of events. It wasn't such a good look for Lucius. He reminded me of Lockheart. Uuugh, Lockheart. I don't know how exactly the bastard lost his memory, but I'd like to thank whoever did it to him.

"So you now owe Harry Potter two life debts." It was said with a most disbelieving air.

Yup, that about sums it up. Believe me, I'd rather not. _Believe_ me.

"Lets not be excessive," I said instead. "One and a half. I don't know what the Death Eater would've done to me. And I always could've shown him my Mark. Really, Potter was just being greedy there. Probably aiming to squeeze another life debt from me. As if one isn't enough."

My speech was met with a chorus of the famous Malfoy eyebrow lift. I scowled and grabbed some water from our food tray. It's not like it mattered anyway. When would I get the chance to repay it? I'm going to Azkaban, after all. Not many chances to save a persons life in there. Or however you repaid a life debt, I wasn't really sure.

"Not a lot of interesting things happened after that. I was just ducking under curses, trying to stay alive until you two found me after Potters possum act."

"Possum act?"

"Playing dead." He nodded, but it was obvious that he didn't actually understand. But why would Lucius Malfoy read about animals? They were so far beneath him it was laughable.

With that thought in my head I took a closer look at him. He was lounging gracefully against the wall, sitting on the bench while Mother and I sat on the floor. His posture radiated ... something. I was too used to seeing him like this to be able to look at it from an outsiders point of view. But it made me think of a full-body smirk.

I thought of the things he'd done. The people he'd tortured. Killed. I hadn't even been able to kill one person. Torture, yes, but not kill. Did that make me better than him, or weaker? I couldn't tell anymore.

What was happening to me? Of course, it meant I was weaker. It meant that I ...

I don't know.

My ideals were falling away, and because of what? It was baffling. I couldn't understand it. There was almost no reason for this newfound ... stuff. I shook my head quickly but the thought still permeated into my consciousness.

_I don't want to be like my Father. _

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**A/N: Thank you to kittenonabroomstick, who was extremely nice in her review, and Miyako Suou, who said exactly what I wanted someone to say. I know that you two were the only reviewers (lol) but they were such perfect reviews that it totally made up for it. Thanks!**

**And review some more? ^_^**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hehe, sorry guys. I forgot that I had this typed out. Lol, I discovered it yesterday and just had to edit it a little. **

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Chapter Three

Narcissa's Trial

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_I don't want to be like my Father. _

The thought was rather blasphemous, but true. Maybe once, I had been under that impression. That I had to be a perfect Malfoy. And perfect Malfoys were always like their Fathers. But now, now that it was too late, I wanted to change. Wanted to be me, the me that I might have been if Lucius hadn't been so overbearing. So demanding. Such a Malfoy.

I still loved him, of course. And I knew he loved me. His actions in the Final Battle were more than convincing of that. But he seemed to lessen in my eyes. Going from a God-like status to a normal father. Maybe this had been coming on for a while. Actually I'm sure it has been.

Maybe, during all that time I had to think over the past few months, I'd never really thought. Not about the stuff that mattered.

We stayed silent after that. For a long time. Not that any of us really noticed, I don't think. There was just so much to think about, that for a split second I was almost grateful that I was in jail. At least we had an excuse to just sit and do nothing but think.

I slept. Finally. I woke up to the knowledge that there had been nightmares, but not what they were.

I ate. Finally. The food was disgusting, but I told myself I should get used to it.

After a while we tried to make chit-chat but it felt weird. Forced. Like we were ignoring the elephant in the room. Which we were of course.

It was only on Mother's last day with us that we talked, discussing everything we could think of. Who knew when we'd see her next? Or if we would ever again, after her trial. For nearly half an hour Mother sat with her arms around me. And thirty minutes is an extraordinarily long time when there's absolutely nothing to do. Not that I minded. I just hoped there wasn't a surviliance charm on the room.

Finally, and yet much too soon, a voice told us once again to sit on our bench. This one was much sterner and I felt absolutely no inclination to laugh. Cry? Possibly.

"Narcissa Malfoy," the Auror frowned. "You will be escorted to Courtroom Four to await your Wizengamot trial. Draco and Lucius Malfoy, as imprisoned family members of the accused, you will be permitted to observe." Relief. Overshadowed, of course, by near-blinding anxiousness and dread, but at least we were allowed to watch. I clung to the childish notion that as long as I was actually there, I'd be able to make a difference.

We were escorted - and by that I mean grabbed, held at wand-point and shoved along a corridor - deep down into the bowels of the Ministry. It was early, four o'clock in the morning I saw as we passed someone's office, and we only met two people in the halls. A tired-looking witch that took one look at us and turned the other way, and Arthur Weasley, who gazed at me sadly and then patted me on the shoulder, hurrying off.

"I swear, there'll never be an odder family," I shook my head. "To say the least."

Inside, though, I was rather pleased. It was nice to know not everyone in the world hated me. Well I suppose that's being rather self-centered. Of all the one's that know me, I mean. I'd probably better work on that whole self-centered aspect, I mused before the sinking feeling returned to my stomach. The one that said _why, so you can show off your nice manners to the Dementors?_

We were, once again, thrust rather violently into a holding cell. And really, what is with those people and their love of slamming doors?

"I suppose we should say goodbye."

My head snapped up.

"What?"

"Well who know's when we'll be able to see each other again," Mother's eyes held a horrible broken-hearted expression. "I love you sweetie."

"I love you too Mum," I choked out - barely - and then enveloped her in a huge hug. We stayed that way for several minutes and by the time we pulled back, the undescribable ball of anxiousness rolling around in my stomach had lessened slightly. Not that there was any reason for it, but who can be logial in times as these?

Next she turned to my Father.

"Wait!" I cried, spinning away to look at the wall. "I don't want to see this. Or hear it," I stuffed my fingers into my ears and waited. From the movement of air behind me and the bits that my fingers couldn't block out, it was obvious what they were doing. I suppose it was romantic in an old-person way. If I could've just forgotten that they were my parents.

I wished that I was snogging someone right then. Somebody that I really liked. Or even loved.

I don't think I've ever loved anybody but my parents. When there was time, I didn't want to and when I wanted to, there wasn't time. Well actually, when there was no time, love wasn't really the most pressing issue on my mind.

I wonder what it feels like?

I know how certain books describe it, certain poets. But they've all got fancy, fluffy ways of describing it, filled with metaphors and bright images. What does it really feel like? Would it hurt sometimes? It must. The look on my fathers face that first night was caused purely by love. And what if the person didn't love you back? How do so many people find each other? How do they just magically love each other at the same time? Maybe some of them are pretending. Or forced into things. Though that still only explains a small percentage.

It seemed so wild to my mind. I was trying to look at things logically and if there is one thing love is, it's illogical. You can't measure it, you can't describe it, you can't predict it, hell you can't even always tell when you're in it.

Would this be my life now? Wondering about things I'd never get to experience? Having only myself for company?

"Narcissa Malfoy."

We jumped. We had all been pretty engrossed in our various activities.

"Follow me please."

The people guarding Father and I were not as nice. Maybe they didn't think we were as pretty. They were men after all.

Some people tell me I use humor as a defence mechanism. Not the funny kind, but the kind that makes you want to throw something at me. Or at least tell me to shut up. Personally, I think they're crazy. How could I be funny at a time like this? My stomach was in knots, the kind that make you just want to bend over and groan. My head was swimming with fear and I felt a little faint. This was my Mother! Narcissa. Malfoy. They couldn't sentence her to death.

Azkaban had now completely merged with death in my internal dictionary but I couldn't be sure if that was a good thing. It was like a horrible arithmacy formula. Azkaban equals death squared times madness.

The trial was starting. People were filing in, one by one. Chatting, laughing, completely unaware or uncaring of our pain. Probably the latter. In fact I'm sure they would be quite glad to send my whole family to Azkaban.

They started settling down, the noise going from a steady buzz to sporadic little bursts. Shacklebolt strode in, looking exceptionally tired. Actually quite a few of the panel looked tired. How much time had passed since we were led out of our regular cell? Was it still four in the morning? Why would they hold a trial then?

"I do, once again, apologize for calling you all so early," Shacklebolt pronounced as he sat down in his chair. Any people still whispering stopped and gave the man their full attention. "It has been a busy couple of days so far and I'm trying to get the Death Eaters trials over quickly." Satisfied nodding met this announcement. "Now-"

_Creeaak..._

The two huge doors swung open and there was Potter.

Potter.

He looked a bit startled as everyone in the room pivoted to stare at him and he stared back. It was nothing compared to what I was feeling.

Potter. What the fuck?

"Sorry Kingsley. Minister," he quickly and sheepishly corrected. The room started buzzing again.

_"Harry-?"_

_"Look, is it actually-?"_

_"What on earth is he doing here?"_

_"The Chosen One..."_

_"Merlin-"_

_"D'you think he'd sign my Maintenance Manual?"_

"Just Kingsley, please Harry," Shacklebolt half-shouted over all the racket, wearing the most ridiculously self-satisfied smile. The same one Potter was wearing. Disgusting.

"What-?" Father leaned in toward me. "What is he doing here?"

"Gloating?" I suggested darkly.

"Mr. Potter!" came a high, simpering voice. My head swiveled, mirroring Harry's, to my disgust.

"What are you doing here?" he breathed, his eyes open in horror. "Kingsley?"

"Ahh..." the man faltered, his smile loosing some of it's intensity. "Well Harry it's been a busy couple of days, I haven't been able to change everything yet..."

"But _Umbridge_? Really?" As much as I wanted to distance myself from the prat, he had a point. Umbridge was disgusting, a fact that I had failed to see in fifth year.

"Oh now Mr. Potter," she simpered, still wearing that utterly horrifying pink cardigan. "Surely we can work something out? After all-" Potter didn't let her get father than that.

"Kingsley. There is no way that she can be allowed to participate in Wizengamot trials!" The very idea of it made me shudder. This woman might be condemning my Mother.

"You are well aware of the crimes against humanity that she committed, why should she be given the right to pass judgement on whether or not others have committed those same crimes?"

One of my eyebrows raised. This was not the Potter I knew. So many things were off about this picture that I didn't even know where to start.

Number one: He was helping my Mother. But I suppose it was rather indirectly. Everybody knew how much Potter hated Umbridge. Okay, that one can be rationalized.

Number two: He was not getting overly upset or angry and throwing one of his ridiculous little tantrums, forcing everyone to cater to his whims. Maybe because it's so early? It's possible.

Number three: He was actually sounding civilized. But then he'd only spoken a few sentences. Alright, problem solved, he was still an annoying git. Good to know.

"What do you recommend then Harry? Or anyone on the Wizengamot panel, what do you recommend?" Shacklebolt had faded back into his exhausted countenance and I could see Potter watching him carefully. Stupid Potter. What is he doing here anyway? He was probably the last person I expected to see. I'd have been less surprised if Voldemort himself marched in.

Okay, that's a lie. But it would've been close.

"Alright, it seems to be decided," Shacklebolt shrugged and a new wave of panic swept through me. Shitshitshit, I should have been listening! What counter arguments did Umbridge make? Were they enough?

"Dolores Umbridge, you are hereby arrested. The date of your trial is pending consideration." Relief. Even as he spoke, two guards that I hadn't noticed - they were not the one's that brought us in - marched up behind her, each seizing an arm.

"You," she hissed at Potter, her facade breaking completely now. "You... you... _I should have Crucioed you when I had the chance!_" Her voice echoed as it bounced along the hallway and back into our dungeon. Immediately, the room was filled with gasps.

_"She tried what?"_

_"I swear, if I ever get my hands on her..."_

_"Good Merlin-"_

_"Bitch."_

_"Who does she think she is?"_

"Yes, yes," Potter waved a hand. "She tried to Crucio me. But in the end she was prevented. She did, however, succede in sending lots of innocent people to Azkaban and confiscating their wands, which is probably the bigger picture right?" Somehow he managed to pull it off as innocent, not condescending by injecting a note of, fake, curiosity into his voice.

The others didn't catch it of course. The Chosen One, being deceiving? Surely not. Maybe I just knew him too well. Which is rather ironic seeing as I hate him with a vengeance. He couldn't even walk into a courtroom without causing a fuss. My eyes drifted, as though being pulled by a magnet, to my Mother. They'd had the audacity to activate the chains. As though she'd go springing up and attack them at any moment. I could barely even look, and yet my eyes drank up the sight of her, for who knew when I'd get to do it again?

"It seems we are a panel member short," Shacklebolt's eyes twinkled and Potters widened. "Does anyone have a suggestion on who we should call up?"

"Well now that he's here... I'm sure Harry would do an exemplary job of judging, Minister."

Who was that? The voice echoed slightly as it reverberated around the rather cold room. Potter didn't seem to know either as he searched the room, frowning slightly.

_"Oh yes!"_

_"Fabulous idea."_

_"He should be a permanent member, really-"_

_"Seems Kingsley's already a better Minister than any of the recent others."_

_"D'you think anyone could be worse than Fudge?"_

_"Are you trying to jinx us?"_

_"D'you think he'll sit up here?"_

_"Oohh, maybe!"_

These are the people that are going to be judging me? What a fucking mess the Ministry is.

"Does anybody have any objections?" Kingsley's back had lost some of it's slump. I wonder if he thought that Potter would be against him like he was against Fudge and Scrimgeour?

Silence.

"Perfect. Let's proceed then."

_No it is not perfect_, I wanted to shout. Potter wouldn't be any fairer than Umbridge to my Mother. My Mother. My legs started jumping up and down slightly from my nervous energy.

"Narcissa Malfoy, you are being charged with the use of multiple Unforgivables, willing association with Death Eaters, and causing harm to members of the Light side in the Final Battle. Do you understand the charges?"

"I do," Mother raised her head defiantly but she was rather slouched in her seat as the chains pulled at her arms.

"Does anyone wish to speak against these charges?"

"I would," Potter said casually and I choked on air. Beside me, Father leaned forward in disbelief.

"What the hell?"

But Mother didn't move a muscle to look up and Potter stared only at Shacklebolt.

"You would?" Shacklebolt seemed as surprised as everyone else in the room.

"She didn't hurt anyone in the Final Battle. She'd given her wand to her son." Potters face was so bloody neutral that I couldn't read anything off it. His eyes held a rather odd expression though, one that I could see even from across the room. They were so noticeable. His eyes. So easy to read, I'd been doing it for years. But then I hadn't seen him much in the past year - it was probably different from when we were at school. He was probably different.

Silence followed his pronouncement. Everybody seemed unsure, myself included. It was a well known fact what side Potter was on, for people who didn't read or belive Rita Skeeter that is. Now the world seemed slightly skewed. If you couldn't count on Potter hating the Malfoys, then what could you count on? My legs continued with their jitters.

"She'd given her wand to her son," Kingsley echoed, frowning.

"Yup." Potter was so damn nonchalant. Didn't he realize what everyone was thinking?

"You're completely sure?"

"Yes."

"And you belive that she could not have injured anyone any other way?" Kingsley was grasping at straws. Why? There were still two more charges.

"It doesn't matter anyway, she was with Voldemort the entire night." At that, two things happened, nearly simultaneously. Everyone, excluding me and Potter oddly enough, gasped at His name, and then raised their eyebrows at the implications of the last part of his sentence. My face contorted with horror. What kind of sick game was he playing?

"Oh come on!" Potter yelped as he took in their faces. "Not like that. That's disgusting," he shook his head violently, as though to get the image out of his mind.

Mother gagged a little bit and then started shaking her head too. I didn't even want to look at my Father.

"I meant that ... Narcissa ..." he faltered for a moment. Why? Damn all these mysteries. "Narcissa and her husband were in the forest, _nearby_ Voldemort, while most of the others were fighting, throughout the night."

"And you're sure of this Harry?"

"You should know, if you don't already," Potter rubbed his temples, "that a piece of Voldemort's soul was inside me." Gasps.

"Yes, I know, disgusting right?" Potter smiled wryly. "It's gone now, of course, but while it was in me, it gave me the power to look through Voldemort's eyes. Occasionally it was voluntarily, though usually not."

I refused to let myself contemplate the implications of that. There were more important things going on. Like my Mother's trial. Which Potter was prolonging by making himself the center of attention. Again."

"During that night, I had regular glimpses into his mind. The Malfoy's were always nearby Him. They were more use that way, neither of them had wands." Potter had gone back into his nonchalant self and I wondered how much of it was a mask. Half of it? None?

"Alright, that charge is formally dropped," Shacklebolt seemed the slightest bit disappointed. "Mrs. Malfoy, do you deny your use of Unforgivables?"

"It depends on which ones, Minister." Mother looked up at him, eyes bleak.

"The Killing Curse?"

"I do deny that, Minister."

"Hmm." It was obvious that he didn't believe her. "The Imperius Curse?"

"Also denied."

"The Cruciatus Curse?" Scorn was now evident in his smooth voice.

"I do not deny that, Minister."

"Are you aware that the use of an Unforgivable gets you an automatic four-year sentence in Azkaban?" My legs started to jump to a random tune.

"Yes, Minister."

"Kingsley..." My stomach churned.

"Yes Harry?"

"I was wondering if that charge applied to everyone?" There was a definite gleam to Potters eyes. What was he doing?

"Yes, of course. Everyone, excluding certain Aurors who were given the right certain times. That law has since been revised." I thought I saw where Potter was leading to this... But he couldn't be. Not Potter.

"I used several Unforgivables against Death Eaters. Are you going to throw me in Azkaban?" Potter asked, actually sounding worried. I'd have taken a second to be gobsmacked that Potter was a semi-decent actor if I hadn't already used my limit of surprise for the moment. Potter was helping my mother. He was actually trying to get rid of her charges. _What?_

"Draco what the hell is he doing?" Father actually sounded disturbed.

"Help-" My throat closed over the word. "Helping her?"

"Why?" Yup, definitely disturbed.

"Well..." I dug deep and came up with the only answer that made the littlest bit of sense. "Mother saved his life. He probably doesn't want some life-debt hanging over him." The world started to right itself. Of course Potter would find something that looked self-sacrificing, actually benefited himself, and made him seem like some sort of hero. Makes perfect sense.

"Throw-" Shacklebolt seemed lost for words. "Throw you in... of course we wouldn't sentence you to Azkaban Harry!" The panel started their whispering again.

_"Ridiculous thought-"_

_"Poor dear, he actually seemed worried!"_

"But you are willing to sentence Narcissa to that fate?" Potters voice cut across the rest.

"The accused did not torture Death Eaters Harry." Indeed Shacklebolt seemed a bit amused by the idea. Honestly? Do people really think that?

"You haven't asked her who she tortured or even why she did it." There was that casual tone. He was winning and he knew it. I could almost see Potter propping his legs up on the mahogany bench in front of him.

"Well-" Shacklebolt seemed a bit confused. "Narcissa Malfoy, do you deny using the Cruciatus Curse on anyone outside of Death Eater ranks?"

"I do." Clear and concise. As though she had her life hanging in the balance every day. Well with Voldemort you did, actually.

_"What?"_

_"Come on."_

_"Can't expect us to believe-"_

_"Really."_

Potter whispered to his neighboring panel member, a youngish witch wearing periwinkle robes that made my mind instantly, and unwillingly, jump to Lockheart. The witch giggled.

"Why though?" she asked, a moment later, her high voice carrying clearly.

"Pardon?"

"Why would she torture her friends?" Kingsley looked to Mother, nodding for her to answer.

"They were not truly my friends," she shrugged. "And the only times I ever administered the Cruciatus Curse was when I was forced to by V-Voldemort." Her voice caught the tiniest bit on the last word but people gasped and raised eyebrows, impressed.

"Self-preservation," Potter shrugged. "Same as me really. Most of the time," he added quietly, mouthing it more than saying it.

"You can't possibly expect me, any of us, to ignore her use of Unforgivables?" Shacklebolt stared at Potter who gazed calmly back.

"She had as many reasons as me to use the curse. Are you going to sentence both of us to Azkaban or neither?" The last sentence was delivered slightly wide-eyed as Potter gazed around the room. You could practically see the halo glowing.

"All in favor of dropping said charge?" Shacklebolt asked a few moments later. Every single hand went up.

I breathed a quiet chuckle of amazement and relief. Was this really happening? Beside me, Father was actually looking hopeful.

"Narcissa Malfoy," Shacklebolt positively sighed. The man really needed some sleep. "D'you deny your association with Death Eaters?"

"No," she quietly shook her head.

"Is that even an official thing to charge someone with?" Potter frowned.

"Yes," Shacklebolt raised one shoulder and let it drop.

"Well I vote that she be cleared of that too." It sounded like he was talking to his best mate over Butterbeer.

"Why this time?" Resigned.

"Because she showed clear intent for change, even back when Voldemort was still kicking. She saved my life, at great risk for her own." The whispers revved up again.

_"She did what?"_

_"No way."_

_"But why would he lie about that?"_

_"Everyone knows the Malfoys only want to save their own skin."_

_"So then...?"_

"How?" Even more resigned. I felt a flash of pity for the Minister, leaving me rather surprised. I don't _do_ pity.

"It was back when Voldemort shot the Killing Curse at me, and he didn't know if I was dead and he didn't want to check himself, the coward," Potter rolled his eyes. "So he sent her. And clearly I was still alive, so she risked her life, telling Him that I was dead. If she hadn't done that, I would never have dueled - if you could even call it that - Voldemort in the Great Hall. It would have been back in that clearing with all the Death Eaters surrounding us. As soon as he was dead, I would've been too."

"Why would you do that?" I didn't know the speaker but he was wearing the most disturbing thick gold necklace with the words My Sweetheart carved into it. I shuddered.

"I no longer agreed with V-Voldemort's ideals. I hadn't for a while, but it was only then that I really got the chance to act on my feelings." It wasn't so much of a lie. More like an omission of truth more than anything. I was proud of her.

"You honestly want me to clear her - Narcissa Malfoy - clear her of all charges?" The Minister was leaning forward, staring at the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die intently, as though trying to determine whether he was Imperiused.

"Yup."

Damn him! I just wanted to slap that uncaring face back in on itself. How dare he not care? Act like this was just another trial. My heart was pounding. Actually my whole body seemed to be pounding, not just my heart. I realized that I was biting a nail and withdrew the finger from my mouth in horror. Potter better not have seen that.

"All in favor of clearing Mrs. Malfoy of all charges?"

I held my breath. How could anyone be breathing at a time like this?

Potters hand went up.

I waited.

The witch beside him raised her hand...

My lungs were bursting.

The wizard beside her raised his hand. It continued along the row.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I saw more than half of the hands up. Actually, it was almost a unanimous decision. A tear tried to gather in my eye - probably brought on by lack of sleep - before I blinked it away.

"Well then, Mrs. Malfoy... You are cleared of all charges, and free to go," Shacklebolt shrugged weakly and the chains poured, clinking, off of Mothers arms.

The buzz of amazed chatter started up again as everyone collected purses and coats. Potter went up to the Minister and they whispered to each other for a minute before Potter turned and quickly strode out of the dungeon. Didn't he want to try and beg some thanks from us?

Mother was still in the chair, staring at Shacklebolt. As Potter passed her, her eyes followed him but she didn't make any attempt to talk.

What the hell just happened?

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**A/N: Reevviiiiewwww!!!!! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: hehehe ... okay guys ... I wasn't quite sure whether to put this in or not ... it's not REALLY AU ... 'cause it COULD be his imagination ... even though it's not ...  
Okay, I just thought that this fit. I don't know why, but I tried to write it other ways, an it just didn't work. So, head's up, Draco can See things in water. I figured that since JKR didn't really give us tons of facts on the finer points of diviniation, you could sort of make up some of your own, as long as the fit with the story. **

**Okay, onward and forward. I cannot believe I just typed that.  
Next chapter will be longer - Lucius's Trial. And better. And more fitting with the plotline.  
ARGH! I don't know if I should post this or not ... but I've already typed it all out, so why not.**

* * *

"What?" I shook my head rapidly, blinked hard and then opened my eyes. Nope, still here.

Mother tentatively stood up, glancing around her as if to see that it would be allowed. No one even gave her a second glance. They were too busy discussing what exactly just happened.

_"Why d'you think-?"_

_"Really, I have no idea."_

_"Does this mean-?"_

_"That we have to start liking the Malfoys? I suppose so."_

_"Because surely if Harry Potter thinks enough-"_

_"To get them out of Azkaban? Yes, I know what you mean."_

_"Although it was really only-"_

_"The wife? Yes, we should remember that."_

Now Mother was making her way over to us. Still, nobody cared. I suppose, legally, she was just another citizen now. Surprisingly, she didn't look happy. Well she looked somewhat relieved but...

She stopped in front of us and we all just stared. Her eyes were flickering between me and Father and I could see the relief fading.

"I-" she started helplessly. "I love you two. If you get sent to Azkaban I'll try to break you out," she gave a tiny watery chuckle. Our guards seemed less than impressed.

"Love you Mom," I smiled at her - yes smiled! She just looked so sad that I wanted to cheer her up. "Fix the manor up. It looks too ... Voldemortized," I nodded and half of her mouth turned up. Well, it was a start.

Father didn't bother with words. I think that must have always been the way with him, for I can never remember him saying 'I love you' to Mother. She said it to him, not often, but it happened. I think he must be a more physical expresser of love.

Yuck. I can't believe I just thought that about my own father. That's more disgusting than my Father frenching my Mother right beside me. Which, incidentally, is happening right now. I'm just going to ... turn away ...

"I'll be back for your trials," she said finally, after even our guards were looking elsewhere. She looked so forlorn that I couldn't help hugging her. It's not something that I usually do, especially in public, but what the hell. I might never get a chance to again, and it's not like Potter's here.

"See you tomorrow," I said quietly. "Congratulations." She seemed rather surprised, as though she hadn't quite realized that she was free.

"Good luck," she said to both of us, and reluctantly left the courtroom, looking over her shoulder the entire time.

I know that I should be worried. I know that. So why do I just feel bored?

"Couldn't toss a book in here with us, could you?" I asked whoever was shoving me along. The cell door slammed in my face.

"Guess not."

I settled in for a long bout of silence. Father didn't seem too inclined to talk. So I went back to my _favorite_ activity. Thinking.

Why was Weasel Senior so damned nice? It's not natural. Malfoys and Weasels just don't get along. It's an unspoken rule. Well actually Father spoke of it rather a lot when I was preparing to go to Hogwarts for the first time. Whatever.

Did he feel sorry for me? I hope not. I hate pity. And it had to be pity, right? It couldn't be empathy, how would he know what I was going through? Ugh, this is useless, I don't want to think about it anymore.

Potter. _What_ is up with that kid? It's mind blowing. Seriously.

I was now getting irritated, even by my own thoughts, so I tried to rationalize things again.

Potter is the reason my Mother's not in Azkaban right now. Mother saved Potters life. Okay, it's evened out. But what about him saving _my_ life? Surely that would've paid back his life debt to Mother? Or maybe you could only repay them by saving _their_ life in return. That's crappy. It means that I have to save Potters life one and a half times. If I ever get out of here.

If I ever get out of here? What am I saying? I think Mothers trial might have made me overconfident. Now I feel like I'm going to get out.

Surely not. I _know_ that I'm going to Azkaban. They've practically already sentenced me. Even Potter couldn't - oh what am I saying. Of course Potter could get me out of this. Not that he would. Not that he _will._

I have to get myself used to the idea of going to Azkaban. I _was_ used to it - before stupid Potter came and made me feel like something good will happen to me.

What about Father? He wont get out. The idea is insane. Nobody would get him out of Azkaban now that Voldemort's dead, not even if they owed them a life debt. Poor father. At least I had some kind of odd, unhelpful hope. There was a _possibility_ that I might be freed. Yes, it was horribly unlikely, but it was still there.

The pity returned in full force. Again, I had no real reason to pity him - the only reason I had that possibility of a life was because of my age - but I just couldn't stop it.

My brain felt stuffed. I had been doing too much thinking lately. What I wouldn't give for a Pensive.

I settled down against the wall, crossed my legs and tried to meditate. It had to be rather like looking into a crystal ball, and I was half good at that when Trelawnly wasn't teaching me. I tried to clear my mind, to think of nothing and everything, was how my Mother described it once. And she's a fairly good Seer.

She says that she doesn't like it though, that it never shows you anything important. Just little things like someone random washing dishes. Although usually its someone you know. Someone you like, or are attracted to or something, though not necessarily in a romantic way. I've only ever Seen things twice, in water. I thought I was loosing my mind.

Once it was Blaise sitting, just sitting, and doing a transfiguration essay. It was in the Great Hall, after a Quidditch practice and I was looking into my cup, exhausted, when the picture floated across the water. I had jumped up, knocking over the water in question. And then I yelped as Blaise himself asked me what was wrong. It was all rather embarrassing.

Another time it was Crabbe and Goyle. I think that time was in second or third year. They were lying in a broom cupboard without shoes. It took me a while to find them. By that time they were waking up. They said they'd been drugged, but weren't sure how. Who would go to the trouble of drugging Crabbe and Goyle, then _dragging_ them into the cupboard just for their shoes? Those two are really heavy blokes. It was extremely odd.

I suppose I should get used to using past tense with Crabbe, however depressing it is. I kind of miss them. Crabbe and Goyle. They were almost always with me, like two bodyguards or something. Sure, it was annoying - they're thicker than rocks - but I got used to it.

See these are the kind of thoughts I'm trying to use meditation to get rid of.

I tried, I really did. I must have sat there for half an hour trying to clear my mind but thoughts just kept drifting across it.

_This is stupid. _

_I wonder what Mother's doing?_

_I wonder what Father's doing?_

_I wonder what Goyle's doing?_

_I wonder what Potter's doing?_

_I wonder if I'm going insane?_

_This is stupid._

Finally I opened my eyes, admitting defeat. Father still hadn't moved. He was just sitting on the bench, eyes open but not really seeing.

Wasn't his ass numb? Mine was.

I just wanted to scream with boredom. My mind needed something to do! Something, anything. I'd take a conversation with Potter over this. Although that's not really fair because I already wanted to ask him something. Namely, what the _fuck_.

Seeing. I could try Seeing. Even Seeing random people do nothing would be better than this.

I grabbed one of the dishes full of food and dumped the half-cooked rice out of it onto the tray. I wasn't hungry anyway. Then I took a napkin - we don't get books but we get napkins? - and cleaned it out the best I could. I don't think I've ever washed a dish before. Then I dumped some of the water from the pitcher into the bowl, filling it up almost to the top. I wriggled around for a few minutes, trying out different positions. What I wouldn't give for a desk and chair.

But finally I settled on lying on my stomach in a very un-Malfoyish way with the bowl between my arms so I could easily look into it. It was rather like doing one of those optical illusion things. You had to let your eyes drop out of focus and just wait until things were clear. You couldn't rush things. That was what I was doing wrong the last time I purposely tried to See something.

But now I definitely had enough time on my hands that I wouldn't be tempted into doing something else. There was nothing else to do.

I sat still but relaxed letting the thoughts pour across my mind. They were essential for Seeing. You had to think of everything, but nothing specific. Like when you're really relaxed and you just think without thinking. If you know what I mean.

It took a while but there was nothing else to do so I didn't push it. Finally the water started to cloud. I couldn't see the bottom of the bowl anymore. I started to get excited but I was too calm for the emotion to really push it's way forward. I could See fuzzy shapes in the bowl. It had never been like this when I wasn't trying - the vision would just float across the water like a flag waving it's banner.

It was me. I was sitting in that damn chair with its horrible chains in the courtroom. I looked suitably unreadable, until something happened off to the corner. I tried tilting my head a bit, but it didn't matter. The little bowl-me let it's mouth flop open before shutting it quickly and frowning as though confused. The vision abruptly cut off and I was left as confused as ever.

The water started to cloud over again. I could see a splotch, getting bigger and gaining more substance as the clouds cleared. Dark hair, medium build, it was ... Potter! What the hell?

He was sitting in the same courtroom that I'd just been in for Mother's trial and in my vision. McNaire was on trial, all wrapped up under the chains. It made what Mother got look like mercy. He was struggling under the weight, though it was obviously futile.

I couldn't hear anything, but I could see that Potter was talking. Saying something while glaring at McNair. The look in his eyes was chilling. It was the look that reminded you that beneath all the hair there was the person who defeated Voldemort. I wondered what he was saying. He certainly didn't look like he did during my Mothers trial, all laid back and casual. Now he was filled with loathing, disgust, and something harsher.

It scared me a little, the look in his eyes. Not that I would ever admit it. And not just that, it scared me that I was Seeing Potter.

Abruptly I sat up, tossing the napkin into the bowl to block out the water. I had been wrong. Seeing wasn't better than being bored.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, you absolutely MUST review for this one. I'm biting my nails.**


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